“Sorry, honey. All done.” She clicks off the light and straightens up. I scoot away from her and look around. I’m in a curtained-off room in a hospital. Maybe the ER? I hear lots of talking. A baby’s crying somewhere, and somebody else is asking for water. Too many people. Too close. My arms start to itch, and I scratch at them under the blanket.

“Where’s my mom?”

The doctor, Dr. Janson, her name tag reads, looks away, and I follow her eyes to someone I hadn’t noticed sitting in a chair in the corner. It’s a woman in a suit jacket and skirt. She looks like a lawyer-banker-school-librarian. She’s holding a folder.

Dr. Janson doesn’t answer my question. Instead, she looks back at me and says, “It looks like you’ve got a mild concussion from the accident. That’s a nasty bump on your head. We’ll need to keep you for observation. We’re working on getting you a room up in pediatrics. But it might be a bit. It’s a busy night with the snow.” She pats my knee and I flinch. I see the woman in the suit see it. “Can I get you something to eat? Juice? Crackers?”

I shake my head. I can’t spend the night here in this loud, too-bright place. I’ve never slept anywhere without my mom. I turn to the suited lady. “When can I see my mom?”

She stands and walks over. I get a better look at her. She’s older than I thought, with silver running through her dark hair. I see a wedding ring. A nice old married lady has come to talk to me. This can’t be good.

“That’s what I’m here to see you about, Louise.”

“Lou.”

“Lou. You go by Lou. That’s good. Thank you for telling me. My name is Maria, and I’m with the Placer County Child Protective Service. It’s nice to meet you.”

Well, it’s not nice to meet you, I think.

CPS. This is exactly what we’ve been running from, and now they’re here, the government, sitting in my hospital room, and my mom is off somewhere, maybe even in jail, and it’s all my fault. I pinch my elbows under the covers until the tears that were about to fall shrivel back up, and I close my eyes. I play the game I used to play when I was little. If I can’t see them, then they can’t see me.

“Lou, you’re old enough to understand the process, so I’ll walk you through it, but you need to know you’re not alone. You are safe here, and we will make sure you are well taken care of. Okay?”

I open my eyes. But I don’t answer.